


Polite

by aunt_zelda



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bruises, Cock Piercing, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Honesty, Kink Meme, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Light Masochism, Lube, M/M, Manhandling, Rough Sex, Tarot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 02:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13377966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/pseuds/aunt_zelda
Summary: Molly invites Fjord to his tent for a private card reading, but Fjord's not really that interested in the cards.





	Polite

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wasn't gonna write fic until we had a few more episodes but ... I couldn't resist. 
> 
> Written for this prompt on the kink meme: 
> 
> https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/3194.html?thread=441722#cmt441722
> 
>  
> 
> If I've neglected to warn for any triggers please let me know and I'll edit the tags accordingly.

It’s not difficult to persuade the half-orc into his tent for a card reading, the day after they finish sorting out the zombies and clearing their names with the guards. The circus is going to leave soon, and Molly hopes he can persuade some of these strangers to come along. Cards indicating wealth and adventure and a journey might persuade a few of them. Jester is already entranced by the circus, Beau is adorably smitten with Yasha, and even that scruffy wizard seems more at ease among the circus of “freaks.”

The reading is easy enough. Molly slips in The Long Road, followed by The Dragon’s Hoard, and The Clasped Hands for good measure. Fjord looks unimpressed, but he pays the silver piece for a private, in-depth reading, without a grumble. 

“Adventure and riches, and a long journey.” Fjord muses. “Now, when was it you said the circus was headin’ out?”

“Tomorrow. We have overstayed our time here.”

“Right,” there’s a glint in Fjord’s eyes and Molly frets that his steering has been observed. 

Fjord rises to his feet, stretching. 

“Another reading?” Molly suggests hastily, a bit too hastily. 

“I’m not actually here for cards.” Fjord says.

Molly pauses, assessing. “Really now?” He stands up from the reading table. 

“You think I look like a fool?” Fjord drawls, tilting his head slightly. “I know that’s what plenty of people think, when they see me: big and dumb. That what you think?”

“I think,” Molly chooses his words carefully, “you look like a man who knows what he wants.” Molly grins rakishly, like so many things he does. 

Fjord nods at the card stacked on the table. “You need to ask the cards what's on my mind?”

“Not this time, I don't think so.” Molly's eyes flick down to the obvious bulge between Fjord's legs. "My, what an ... impressive weapon you have there." 

“Thought I was supposed to check weapons at the gate.” Fjord says, closing the distance between them. “Maybe you ought to search me a bit more thoroughly.”

“Do I dare?” Molly asks. “Maybe I should go find Yasha –”

“Not interested in her right now. Besides, Beau’d kick my ass if I tried to make a move on that one.” Ford reaches out, slowly, gently, and catches Molly’s chin with his fingers. “You know I’m up for it. Are you?”

Molly puts his hands on Fjord’s waist. “Very much so.”

“That’s real nice,” Fjord’s voice, already deep, takes on a bit of a growl. “You got a preference for where and how?”

Molly nods over Fjord’s shoulder. “My caravan is attached to the tent, it’s just behind that flap.”

Molly lets go of Fjord and goes for the tent flap. As he fiddles with the ties, Fjord’s hands come to rest on his hips, pulling him flush against Fjord’s body.

“How do you like it?” and oh, that voice ought to be illegal. 

Molly pauses, hands clinging to the ties of the flap. “… rough. You?”

“I’ll do whatever you like, so long as you ask me politely.”

Molly shivers. “Gods, damn you, I’m not going to last at this rate.”

“Fine by me,” Fjord chuckles, and the reverberations thud into Molly’s back, pressed against Fjord’s chest. “That just means you’ll be nice and relaxed when I fuck you.”

Molly tears the tent flap. 

His caravan is small, a simple sleeping space, his possessions kept out of the way in trunks and crates off to the side. There is, crucially, a mattress, propped up on wooden blocks carved with intricate designs. 

“Thank the gods, I was worried you had a hammock.” Fjord mutters. 

“You’d fuck me in a hammock?” Molly laughs. 

“I’d try.”

Molly thinks of the silk scarves the acrobats climb in the ring, twisting their bodies up to the top of the tent and spinning back down. Something to consider, later, perhaps, if there is a later. 

“I have a few rules.” Molly says, standing there, looking at the sheets he didn’t bother to make this morning. 

“Good, so do I.”

“No fire. No magic in bed. No weapons in bed. No excrement. You can call me anything you like, but not ‘demon.’ 

“Same for me. And nothin’ about my parentage, thanks.” 

“Good.” Molly turns. “Do you kiss?”

“Mind the tusks.” 

The kiss is a little awkward with Molly’s teeth, Fjord’s tusks, and Molly’s horns, but they make it work. 

Fjord moves them both and has Molly pinned to the caravan wall. Molly arches up, cock hardening as he realizes how easily Fjord shifted his weight and how firmly he’s holding Molly in place. 

“How do you want it?” there’s a bit of a moan in Fjord’s voice, as he shifts and nuzzles at Molly’s neck, just over the tattoo. “Ask me … polite like.”

“Fuck me …” Molly gasps, half a curse and half a request.

“That wasn’t very polite. Try again, fancy man.” Fjord slides his knee between Molly’s legs.

“Please, I want you … I want you to please hold me down and … oh gods …” Molly whimpers as Fjord rakes his teeth over the sensitive skin on his throat. “… and I want bruises on my hips from your hands so I’m thinking about you for days … please fuck me …”

Fjord’s hands are on Molly’s hips firmly, pressing, and Molly can envision the bruises now.

“There you go. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Fjord chuckles again.

Molly’s knees go weak, they actually go weak. He vaguely remembers he was supposed to be persuading Fjord to join the circus, but that seems a distant memory. Molly wants nothing more than Fjord’s cock in him. Now.

Fjord manhandles Molly onto the bed. He shoves him down, and starts stripping off his armor and the clothes we wears beneath it. There are more scars on his torso and upper arms, some matches to the one on his face, others older and more faded. 

“You want me to rip your clothes off, fancy man?” Fjord offers. 

Molly shakes his head hastily and disrobes, the airy pants and draping shirt he wears more as a jacket removed and flung beneath his bed, out of the way. 

As Molly twists around to face Fjord, Fjord is on him again, naked now, joining him on the bed. 

“You got oil?”

Molly opens a nearby chest. 

“You wanna do something with that?”

“Please, let me get myself ready for you.” Molly likes pain but taking a half-orc’s cock without preparation is horrid to consider. 

“Go slow for me. I want to watch you.”

Molly makes a proper show of it, slicking his fingers and riding them, one after another. He moans from genuine enjoyment, and because he’s watching Fjord watch him. Fjord is hard, giving himself a stroke now and again but holding back, pacing himself. 

“Please,” Molly starts to moan, almost a chant, as his hips jerk and his fingers slide into himself over and over again. “Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

Fjord fumbles with some pillows and leans against the wall, spreading his legs. “Climb on, then.”

Molly crawls up the length of the bed, straddles Fjord’s lap, and starts to sink onto his cock. 

He’s taken bigger, over the years, but Fjord is still an impressive specimen. It takes Molly a few slow, careful downward thrusts to sink entirely onto Fjord’s length. 

Fjord curses in orcish and Molly laughs, recognizing that particular phrase. 

“Remember your promise,” Molly chides, taking one of Fjord’s hands and placing it over his hipbone. 

“I do. Remember to be polite.” Fjord rests his other hand on Molly’s other hip. “You don’t come before I do.”

Molly stares at him incredulously.

Fjord laughs. “Well you can, but there’ll be consequences if you do.”

Molly likes the sound of that, but he also very much wants to hold out longer than Fjord as a point of pride. 

Ultimately, Fjord comes first, thrusting up and digging his fingers into Molly’s hips so hard for a wild beautiful moment Molly thinks he might have broken skin. Molly groans and clambers off of Fjord, thighs slick and cock still hard and throbbing. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Fjord growls, putting his hand back over the marks he’s left. 

“Nowhere.”

“That’s right. You’re staying right here.” Fjord runs a single finger along Molly’s length.

Molly moans, hips jerking, trying to follow the movement. 

“Ask me. Polite like.” 

“Please …” Molly bites back a sob. “Please let me … please help me … please …”

Fjord reaches over for the bottle of oil and slicks up his hand, before wrapping his fingers around Molly’s cock. “Pretty,” he murmurs, flicking his thumb over the metal rods pierced through the underside of Molly’s cock. “Anything I should know?”

“No … please … keep …” Molly keens desperately. 

Fjord strokes him slowly, agonizingly slowly, rubbing his fingers over the metal rods and the ridges they make beneath Molly’s skin. 

Molly spends himself over Fjord’s fingers, sighing with delight. 

Fjord eyes his hand dubiously, then shrugs and licks his fingers clean. 

Molly watches. “That’s … very polite of you.” He gulps. 

“Salty,” Fjord comments. “Different though, from what I’ve tried before.”

“Never had a tiefling before?”

“Nah. Not too tricky to figure out though. You good?”

“Never better.” Molly stretches, cat-like, and drags one of the pillows down for his head. “Will you stay?”

“For a while, if you’ll permit it.” Fjord shifts on the pillows. “Need to get my legs back under me.”

“You’re welcome here, as long as you like.” Molly casts a flirtatious look at the end of the words, but there’s sincerity in them. 

“Hmmm,” Fjord’s mouth twists contemplatively. “And my friends, too, right?”

They’re no longer talking about the caravan bed. 

“… yes.” Molly opts for honesty. “Was it that obvious?”

“Not exactly subtle, fancy man.” Fjord nods over at the forgotten table and stack of cards. “The Long Road? Riches? The cards tell you all that? I’m not Jester, you can’t take me in that easily.”

Molly shrugs and avoids eye contact, cheeks burning with humiliation. 

“Hey,” Fjord takes him by the chin again. “Just ask, ok? All of us. Up front. We’ll talk it out.”

“Ask … polite like?” Molly attempts to mimic Fjord’s accent. 

Fjord chuckles. “Exactly.”

Molly rests on the pillows, tracing Fjord’s scars idly with his fingers. Maybe the cards aren’t the answer this time. Maybe he will ask directly. 

After all, what’s the harm in a little politeness now and again?


End file.
